“Partly,” I admit. “But there’s more to it.”
She waits, and I find myself continuing in a way I wouldn’t with most people. Any people.
“I had leukemia when I was fourteen. Freshman year of high school.” I watch her face for the pity I usually see when I mention this, but there’s only patient interest.
“Sloane mentioned that at book club. She was worried about her own treatment, and you were her frame of reference.”
“I’m afraid knowing what I went through made her experience harder.” I nod slowly. “But our parents’ behavior followed a similar pattern after her diagnosis. They didn’t come back to supportSloane, and although they had to be there for me, it cost all of us. They’d had a dig planned that summer, some site in Turkey they’d been waiting years to access. When I got sick, they had to cancel.”
“It must have been scary to face something like that when you were a kid.”
“It was lonely.” The word comes out before I can stop it. “Mom and Dad were furious about missing the dig. I spent most of that summer feeling like the worst kind of inconvenience, which was almost harder than the physical toll the treatments took on me.”
Avah sets down her fork. “That’s horrible.”
A shiver races along my spine despite the warmth of the day. I’m not usually in the position to garner sympathy from anyone, and I’d tell you it’s useless to me anyway. Yet I find myself wanting to curl into Avah’s commiseration like a needy kitten. “It was a long time ago.”
“Time doesn’t make shitty parents less shitty.”
She makes the statement like she knows what she’s talking about.
“No, it doesn’t.” I lean back in my seat, watching a bird skim across the water. “When Sloane got sick, all those mixed up feelings came flooding back. There’s nothing that would have kept me from her. I threw money at her treatment because that’s what I know how to do. But watching her go through it, seeing how isolated even the best medical care can leave you… It started me thinking about what it would look like to do something real with my money and influence.”
“Real how?”
“NorthStar has the infrastructure and the mission. I have the resources to scale it globally. Together, we could build communities that support patients and caregivers from the moment of diagnosis to long after treatment ends.” I meet her blue eyes, which are less glacial ice and more soft summer sky at the moment. “It would be more than just an app or content. Wecould help patients and families feel like they aren’t fighting alone.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I brace myself for the clapback. For her to point out that I’m just another tech bro trying to buy a legacy. Which is one of my biggest fears and potential failings.
“What’s stopping you?” she asks instead.
I blink at the unexpected question. “The Johnsons want nothing to do with me. They know my reputation.”
“Soulless asshat?”
“That’s the general consensus, yes.”
Her mouth twitches. “In fairness, you do give off strong soulless asshat vibes.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’re not. You’re just bad at showing people the other parts.”
She makes it sound obvious, and I don’t know what to say to that. No one has ever framed my interpersonal failures as a marketing problem before.
“Don’t give up on the Johnsons,” she continues. “If your motives and intentions are pure—and I believe they are—they’ll see it eventually. Maybe stop acting like a robot long enough for them to notice.”
“Cue theRockymusic.”
“I’m known for my motivational speeches.”
“Is that what this is?”
“It’s the best you’re going to get.” She picks up her fork again and points it at me. “You’re not as tedious as people think you are.”
“Including you?”
She grins. “Maybe.”
